


hard candy

by jeynestheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Getting Together, Jon Snow is Not a Stark, Jon is a washed up rock star, Mentions of drugs, Sansa is a pop star
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeynestheon/pseuds/jeynestheon
Summary: Jon knows his limits; hard and soft. And he knows when he has a problem, and he knows it’s a problem because it’s become a habit—She has become a habit.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 44
Kudos: 391





	hard candy

**Author's Note:**

> without further ado here is another rock star au! The band is still called crow’s row, but it consists of theon, gendry, jon and ygritte. And Sansa is 23 while Jon is 36 instead of them being the same age. the title is from kiwi by harry styles!
> 
> listen to ivory here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2JaHiaAD7fTkQUGbZRkB9D?si=PMWYE_e2QoGU0FPnqyYZFw

Jon Snow is not in denial. 

He’s always been brutally honest when it counts. Especially to himself. He has no problem admitting shit. The life he lives—it’s not one you can live without being straight with yourself. The trick is to know your limits. No booze on weekdays. No drugs on days that end with y. Don’t fuck women from your label unless you want a nasty song written about you. 

Jon knows his limits; hard and soft. And he knows when he has a problem, and he knows it’s a problem because it’s become a _habit—_

_She_ has become a habit.   
  


* * *

**  
[HEADLINES]**

**_“SANSA STARK” TRENDING TOPICS_ **

**_SANSA STARK releases her new single_ **

**_SANSA STARK makes the pivot from pop royalty to rookie alternative star with “desire”_ **

**_SANSA STARK to perform her new single at Lollapalooza Chicago_ **

* * *

“No.”

The word leaves his mouth so clearly there is no chance for misinterpretation. But his body is saying otherwise. His hands are running all over her, pulling her closer against him. 

She cocks her head. “No?” 

She’s mocking him. 

He’s being _mocked._

Something inside of him snaps as he sweeps everything off the dressing room table and presses her against it, kissing her harder. She says, “ _Oh,”_ sounding less smug and more needy.

Jon parts her legs, pushing up her dress. It’s a gauzy thing. Like lingerie. He hates the idea of anyone seeing her in lingerie, and contemplates ripping it. But then she’d have nothing to wear, and she’d probably go out naked just to spite him. The thought makes him nip her lip, and she gasps. 

He pulls back. He knows his mouth is probably covered with lipstick right now. He couldn’t care less. He leans into her neck, eyes closed, praying for some kind of strength. 

“You’re on in five.” He murmurs against her skin. “We can’t.”

She’s undeterred. Her hands are still at his belt and her mouth is hot on his jaw and her voice is _teasing._ “That’s more than enough time for you. You’re always quick about it.”

A renewed fire rages through him as he bites her pulse point and sucks. She makes this choked, weak sound like he’s hurting her but she’s pulling him closer, rocking her hips up to meet his. 

“Sansa.” Another warning, weak and full of self loathing because he’s already got his fingers around the band of her thong, and—

“ _Sansa_.”

Jon bites back a curse.

Her manager Brienne is standing at the door, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at _him_ like he’s the fucking devil reincarnated.

They pull away from each other. Sansa hurries to smooth her dress back down and her hair back in place and Jon resolves to look anywhere but Brienne’s face which is the most alarming shade of brick red.

“You’re on in five.” She hisses through clenched teeth. “Let’s go. Now.”

“Told you.” Jon mutters under his breath.

Sansa looks back at him, but not to chastise. Her eyes are wide and she’s biting the inside of her cheek. She’s fumbling with one of the many rings on her fingers.

“Hey.” He pulls her close without thinking, cupping her elbows. “You’re gonna do fine. You’ve done this a million times.”

“Not like this.” She whispers. “What if they don’t like it?”

“Who cares what they like?” He says immediately. “You like it. That’s what matters.”

Sansa nods, seemingly steeling herself a bit. Then she takes his hand and presses it to her face. It’s so sweet it leaves him paralyzed. “Come with me.” 

For a moment, he considers it, but that moment quickly ends when he remembers the promise he made himself a decade ago: _Don’t get sucked back in. Don’t lose yourself._

He allows himself to stroke her cheekbone, before muttering, “You don’t need me, kid. You’ll do amazing on your own.”

Disappointment flickers across her face, but so does understanding. It’s been a long time since anyone has tried to understand him. 

Sansa kisses him. “For good luck.” She says slyly. Her smirk is back. “Even though I won’t need it.”

She gives him one last look, just as Brienne gives him one last glare, and then she’s gone. 

_“Ladies and Gentleman, live at Lollapalooza with her new single, Sansa Stark!”_

* * *

**  
[INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT]**

**MTV UNPLUGGED: SANSA STARK - July 11th, 2019**

_“Sansa, I’ve gotta say...I am loving the new look.”_

> **_[laughs.] It’s not really new—but thank you. I’m just trying something different._ **

_As we heard at Lollapalooza—which was absolutely incredible by the way. My mind was blown._

> **_Taena, you’re making me blush._ **

_Seriously, though—it was like I was watching a different person._

> **_It is a bit different, but—not to me. It’s just another part of me I’m trying to show my fans. Stripped down of all the frills and bubblegum. I’m kinda—showing my battle scars. If that makes sense._ **

_So that’s how you would describe your sophomore album? No frills? No bubblegum? Was Porcelain not the real you?_

> **_Like I said—it was a different part of me. Some of it remains, but I’m not completely the same person I was when I was 19. I don’t think anyone can say they are. Ivory is definitely going to reflect that._ **

_Ivory? Is that what you’ve decided to call it?_

> **_Yep._ **

_It’s such a gentle, pretty name considering what you’ve described to us._

> **_You can never judge a book by it’s cover, Taena._ **

_Indeed. So—let’s talk about Desire. Jon Snow produced it?_

> **_He did._ **

_This is pretty interesting—considering what I’ve heard from around the industry. Apparently, he has a no popstar rule? Is that correct?_

> **_Oh, yes. [laughs] Jon doesn’t sell out. Not for any amount of money._ **

_So how did you get him to work with you?_

> **_You really wanna know?_ **

_[laughs.] Of course! It’ll be our secret!_

> **_Honestly—I just kept annoying him and badgering him and I convinced him I wasn’t gonna leave him alone until he at least gave me a shot._ **

_[laughs] Sansa. It’s hard to imagine you annoying anyone._

> **_I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve._ **

_Is it true that he’s producing more of the album?_

> **_He is._ **

_What’s it like working with him?_

> **_He’s a bit of a hard ass, honestly._ **

_Oh, I hope he isn’t watching this. [laughs]_

> **_I hope he is. [laughs] But no, seriously. I think that’s what makes him so brilliant. He’s unwilling to compromise his art for anybody. It’s his way or the highway. I admire that. He’s been in this industry a lot longer than me, so he knows how it works, and he’s kind of mentoring me if that makes sense. It’s my first time doing any kind of genre bending and Jon is helping me hold onto the reins, you know? He’s guiding me through the process and helping me express myself. I couldn’t be more grateful. He’s a true friend._ **

_So that’s how you would describe your relationship?_

> **_Um—I see you were hoping for something else._ **

_Not to be that person—but you’ve been seen together quite a lot, lately._

> **_In order to work on an album, you have to see your producer._ **

_You were also seen at Lollapalooza together._

> **_As moral support. Men and women can be friends, you know._ **

_Of course. All I’m saying is your fans wouldn’t be opposed._

> **_My first priority is Ivory. She is who I’m dating. She is who I wake up to. No one else._ **

_All work and no play, then?_

> **_Is there any other way to get something done?_ **

* * *

“Come to bed.” 

She’s murmuring the words against his ear, having just pulled his headphones off. They were noise canceling. He hadn’t even heard her come down to the studio. But now she’s here, arms wrapped around his shoulders, tempting him. 

Jon resolves not to look up from his laptop, so he won’t give in. “In a minute.” 

Sansa huffs, spinning the chair around so he’s facing her. She’s fucking topless, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. _His_ boxers. She’s also pissed. Her brow is furrowed in that way he likes so much and she’s scowling at him. Still, she straddles his knee, so he has no choice to look at her. “A real minute, or one of your minutes that actually turns into an hour?” 

There’s beardburn on the tops of her breasts that surely matches the chafing between her thighs, and it occurs to him that he should be abashed, but he’s also strangely satisfied, so he soothes the markings by kissing them instead. 

“Don’t be cute.” Her voice turns breathy when he takes her nipple into his mouth. “Answer the question.”

Jon pulls back, considering. Eventually, he suggests, “Why don’t you listen and tell me what you think?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

Sansa purses her lips, looking over her shoulder at the monitor. “Are you sure?”

She knows how sensitive he is about his work when it’s in its earliest stages, but this is different. His heart skips a beat. 

Jon swivels the chair, so they’re facing the soundboard. He hands her the headphones before he can second guess himself. She puts them on. They look big and boxy around her ears. On his laptop, he restarts the track, hitting play.

He watches her face transform as she listens. Her head starts nodding and her fingers start tapping and her eyes go wide. She laughs so loudly she claps a hand over mouth to cover it. 

Sansa pulls the headphones off. “This is _insane.”_

“You like it?”

“Are you _kidding_ me? It’s amazing!”

“It’s yours.”

Her mouth drops open. “Mine?”

Jon just grins at her.

“I—I can’t take this.” She stammers, shaking her head. 

“You said you liked it.” He reminds her.

“I _love_ it.” 

“Then what’s the problem?”

“That is you. All over this track.” Sansa gestures to the screen. “It’s Crow’s Row. You’re the one who should release it.”

He averts his eyes. “You know I don’t sing anymore.”

After he left, the band went their separate ways. Theon joined another band and Gendry quit music entirely and Ygritte—

She was gone. 

“Well, maybe you should.”

Jon shakes his head, trying to pull away from her but Sansa takes his face in her hands and holds fast. 

“You broke _records_. You made history! You don’t miss it?”

Sometimes. Sometimes he did. But not for long. He was still in the music industry. He sees what this life does to people. He knows what it did to him. No matter how much he loved it—

He isn’t going to lose himself in it again.

She continues, breathless and excited. “Do you know how many people would sell their first born child to see Jon Snow play live again? You still have so many fans—and they miss you—”

“I said no, Sansa. Alright?” Jon cuts her off.

She falls silent, but he doesn’t miss the hurt flickering across her face. It makes him feel like shit.

“I’m sorry. I just—I made this specifically for you. I want you to have it.” He pulls her close, tipping his head back to meet her eyes.

“Me?” She echoes dubiously.

“You.” He kisses her chin. 

She still looks uncertain. “You think I can handle this?”

He looks at her, and sees the person he was so many years ago. When fame was still nipping at the backs of his heels and foolishly, he thought he could handle it. Sansa is different, though. She’s got her head screwed on right. She knows what she wants.

He believes in her.

He hasn’t believed in anyone or anything in a long time.

“I know you can.” Jon tells her. 

Sansa chews on her lower lip. The beginnings of a smile is starting to curve the corners of her mouth upwards. “Can we start now?”

He nods toward the booth. “Get in there, kid.”

* * *

**[ARTICLE]**

**_EVERYTHING WE KNOW ABOUT JON SNOW AND SANSA STARK’S RELATIONSHIP - PEOPLE MAGAZINE_ **

**_by Beth Cassel_ **

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, then like the rest of us, you’ve been listening to Sansa Stark’s hot new single _desire._ The track dropped just two weeks ago without any promo, and still managed to hit top 10 in the Billboard hot 100. It’s no secret that Sansa is a mega pop star, but alternative music is different territory for her. Jon Snow, former frontman of crow’s row, produced and wrote the song.

Just last week, Stark claimed they were just friends in an interview, but now, it seems she’s singing a different tune. According to inside sources, Stark has been living with Snow while working on her new album in his home studio. This explains the adorably domestic shopping pics we got yesterday. (Click **[here]** if you missed them.)

Stark also hasn’t been shy about posting Snow on her instagram story. She has taken to semi regularly recording their attempts at cooking breakfast together, and can even be seen wearing his clothes. 

People magazine reached out to both Stark and Snow. Both of their teams declined to comment. But their secretiveness comes as no surprise. While Stark’s last relationship with british soccer player Harrold Hardyng was very public, Snow has not been spotted with any women for years after the loss of his wife and former bandmate, Ygritte Snow. She died of a drug overdose in 2008. Shortly after, he left his band and became a songwriter full time rather than performing.

Apparently, Stark and Snow got together shortly after finishing desire, and have been obsessed with each other ever since. _It’s like they’ve got their own secret club._ A close source says. _They’re so wrapped up in each other they’ve forgotten about everyone else. They’re pretty sweet together._

* * *

Jon slams the button down, snapping into the mic. “Again.”

Inside of the recording booth, Sansa looks up at the ceiling, hands on top of her head. Her cheeks are flushed. He can’t tell if she’s more angry or embarrassed. She nods.

“Maybe she should take a break.” Brienne says, arms crossed over her chest.

Brienne wanted to check on the progress they made with the album, hence her presence. Unfortunately, Brienne is also a helicopter surrogate parent who coddles Sansa to the point where it drives him up the fucking wall. 

“She just took a break.” Jon glares at her. He leans into the mic. “Did you hear me? Again.”

Sansa’s jaw clenches. “Yeah, I heard you.”

For what feels like the millionth time, he restarts the track. The electric guitar surges, coming in strong. The drums are so loud he can feel them in time with his heart. It’s not a melody as much as it is a gathering of sounds. It’s messy. It’s ugly. It’s rock and roll. 

And Sansa is still singing like a fucking church girl. 

Jon slams the computer shut so the music stops and pushes away from the soundboard to pace the room.

“It’s the song!” Brienne insists. “She has no business doing it. It’s just not her style.” She directs her next words into the mic. “Sansa. If the song is too much—”

“It’s not too much.” She protests. “I wanna do it—”

“Then act like it.” He snaps.

Her face darkens. She shouts, “I’m fucking trying!”

“Bullshit. You’re holding back and you know you’re holding back or you wouldn’t be whining right now.”

“Fuck you!”

Jon yanks open the door of the studio and storms inside. She still doesn’t back down. She’s in his face now, chest heaving. He can feel her rage coming off her in waves. 

Finally. 

“You wanna hit me?” He demands. “Go ahead. Do it.”

Sansa attempts to storm away, sneering. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He grabs her by the arm. “This is the problem. This right here. You never allow yourself to get angry. You never allow yourself to lose control—and that’s what rock and roll is. That is why you’re so drawn to it. You wanna let go. So let go.”

Her breathing slows, and she just keeps looking at him, lost and unsure. He realizes it, then. 

She’s afraid. 

He takes a moment to compose himself. To rein it all in. Anger came so easily to him. For a while, it was all he had. Things aren’t the same way for her. He has to remember that. 

“You told me this song had me written all over it, but it’s you. There’s a reason why I wrote it for you. It’s about every single person who’s ever underestimated you, every single person who’s ever counted you out. It’s about you—taking control and losing it all at once.” 

Jon reaches up to take her face in her hands, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Show them. Show me. Like I know you can. Okay?”

Sansa takes a shaky breath. “Okay.”

He nods at her. “Okay.”

He closes the door to the booth, taking his seat right in front of the soundboard. Brienne is looking at him as if she’s never seen him before. He ignores that. 

Jon leans into the mic, “Kid.”

Through the glass, Sansa meets his eyes. They’re stubborn and determined and standing right in front of him is the girl who wouldn’t quit until he gave her a chance in the first place. The girl who would take over the world one day. 

She adjusts her headphones. “What?”

That’s more like it. 

“When you get to the chorus, don’t sing.” He tells her. “Scream.”

* * *

Like it’s predecessor _Desire_ , _I will_ is dropped without any fanfare.

No interviews. No teasers. Just a cover: former disney kid turned mega pop star Sansa Stark, with a vintage Gibson covering her naked body and a link on her instagram page.

Of _course_ it fucking sells. 

She performs it live for the first time on Jimmy Kimmel. Jon records the entire showing on DVR, even though he watched it in person. They fucked in the dressing room just minutes prior to the performance. Her hair was all messy and there was an unmistakable purple bruise on her neck, and it was _his_ leather jacket she was wearing, dancing around in skin tight skirt and singing in that throaty, sultry voice—it’s something he wants to remember for the rest of his life.

They’re at home in the bathtub when it hits number one, passing a joint back and forth. They’re covered in her favorite girly bubbles and Jon knows he’s gonna leave smelling like a flower shop but he doesn’t really care, because he’s slightly high and he’s sitting in between Sansa’s thighs with her legs wrapped around his waist and she’s telling him all about the music video she filmed today while pressing kisses against his neck and he’s distantly aware of the radio playing in the background. 

_“Now for the number one song in the country right now, ‘I Will’ by Sansa Stark.”_

She actually screams in his ear, and he almost drops the joint. It just barely makes it into the ashtray. Water is splashing everywhere.

“That’s our song!” She cries, eyes wide. “They're playing our song! We’re number one!”

“ _You’re_ number one.” Jon corrects her, but he’s grinning all the same. “This is all you.”

“But I couldn’t have done it without you.” She insists.

The way she’s looking at him makes him feel strange. Breathless and shy. She’s looking at him as if he’s someone, as if he’s someone to _her._ Someone she believes in. 

Jon shakes his head, as if trying to get rid of the feeling. He attempts to refocus, pulling her into his lap. “You’re officially the owner of a number one record. How’s it feel?”

“You know how it feels, already. You have three.” She teases.

“That was a million years ago.”

“You’re not that old. I know you remember.”

He wishes he could forget. Maybe then, the pull back to the stage, back to the life, wouldn’t be as strong. He could actually leave it all behind—the music and the parties and the concerts, if he didn’t remember how good it felt. 

“Well.” Sansa slips a hand in the water, searching until she finds him, hard and waiting for her. She strokes him. “It feels a bit like this.”

Jon bites his tongue so he doesn’t groan, and his head falls back. But she follows him, chin on his shoulder. Her eyes are dark and her mouth is bitten red. 

“Yeah?” He tries to keep his voice level. _Casual._ He can’t think of anything else to fucking say. 

She lifts her hip so she’s hovering before she takes him inside her. He grasps her hips so hard he knows there will be bruises in the morning, but he knows that’s the way she likes it. She’s warm and she’s soft and they fit together so perfectly he can’t imagine doing this with anyone else ever again.

“Yeah.” She nods, but he can’t tell if she’s agreeing with him or if she’s referring to the feel of him inside of her because she repeats it again, a little choked and desperate. 

Jon shifts them so that he’s hovering over her, so that he’s the one rocking into her, again and again. Her heel presses into his back, urging him closer. Her song is still playing in the background.

_When it’s with me you’re messing, I’m gonna teach you a lesson...oh, I will..._

* * *

**[HEADLINES]**

**_“SANSA STARK” TRENDING TOPICS_ **

**_SANSA STARK hosts album launch party at The Nice Guy_ **

**_SANSA STARK celebrates her album release with rumored boyfriend, Jon Snow_ **

**_SANSA STARK releases sophomore album, ivory_ **

* * *

“Are you gonna miss me?” 

They’re home, now. Back from her album launch party. She’s drunk. Can’t walk straight, might throw up, talking nonsense kind of drunk. But she’s also really cute. So Jon doesn’t mind all that much.

“Why would I miss you?” He asks. “You’re right here.” 

Sansa doesn’t answer. He pushes her arms straight up into the air so he can take her dress off. Obediently, she holds them there until her clothes are on the floor, and he puts her arms back down. 

“I mean when I go on tour.” She says belatedly.

Of course he had known she was going on tour. Most of the north american tour dates are already sold out. They’d be leaving in as little as a week. But he had kinda just been ignoring it. Now it’s staring at him in the face, and so is she.

When they first started working together, he thought of her as a rash. Something he couldn’t get rid of. Then they started fucking, and he moved her into his house and she became a tumor. A benign one. A lump of cells that is a part of him as much as any other part of his body is. 

“Yeah, kid.” Jon says quietly. “I’m gonna miss you.”

He finds one of his shirts for her to wear, and tugs it over her body. He sweeps her hair out from underneath the collar, and caresses her cheek, not quite ready to let go.

Sansa covers his hand with hers. “You could always come with me.”

He smirks at her. “You asking me to be your groupie?

“Yeah.” She grins back at him. “Why not?”

His smile fades, as he thinks of being on the road again. Even as just an observer. The memories would be overwhelming. He couldn’t risk it. 

But he doesn’t tell her that. “Maybe.”

Sansa frowns then, but doesn’t let go of his hand. Her shoulders slump. 

“Whenever you say maybe, that always means no.”

Jon looks away.

“Come on.” He says finally, pulling the covers back. “Let’s get some sleep, baby.”

As if he said the magic word, she stifles a yawn and nods. She crawls underneath the covers, resting her head on his chest. Her body is. It doesn’t take long for her breathing to slow. He thought she was knocked out, until he heard her mumble, very sleepily. “I love you.”

Jon doesn’t breathe for a moment, but he pulls her closer. As if to make sure she’s real. That this moment is real. That it just won’t disappear before him. 

He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night. 

* * *

Jon knows there’s a word for guys like him. 

Guys who are stupid. Guys who sit around lovesick. Guys who could have any girl in the fucking world, really, but of course, they choose the one who happens to be one of their artists, and a decade or so younger than him. Guys who book a flight across the country, just because she called and told him she missed him.

_Pussywhipped._

Sansa has only been on tour for a month. That’s a month he’s spent waking up alone, eating alone, sitting in silence alone. If it was just about the sex, maybe he could excuse it, but it wasn’t. He didn’t even feel like looking at any other women, because all he did was compare them to her.

They talked on the phone and facetimed but it just wasn’t the same. Especially since they were always in different time zones with hectic schedules. He hadn’t thought about making whatever they had work until he risked losing it.

So when Sansa asks him to come to New York, he doesn’t hesitate. He books a flight and gets there four hours before her show. 

Tonight, she’s playing Madison Square Garden. After the tickets went on sale, they sold out in 60 seconds. When his band played here, it took him an entire two minutes. She beat him. Maybe he should feel jealous, or envious, but all he can be is proud of her. 

One of her bodyguards, Podrick, recognizes him and lets him in so it saves him a lot of trouble. When he gets inside the stadium, she’s easy to spot. She’s standing in the middle of the stage with her glittery pink electric guitar slung over her body, and she’s wearing a Crow’s Row sweatshirt. _His_ crow’s row sweatshirt.

Jon doesn’t really have time to prepare himself.

Because the sound of the door shutting behind him is really loud, and Sansa immediately sees him from across the room and her smile is blinding and makes his chest ache so fiercely that he can’t breathe and she’s shoving her guitar in a roadie’s hand and jumping off the stage to meet him—

She leaps into his arms so forcefully she almost knocks him flat on his back. Jon just barely catches her, swearing under his breath, but it’s lost in the midst of her giggling.

The first thing he does after he regains his balance is kiss her. It feels like inhaling fresh air after being underwater for so long. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, so he can’t bring her any closer to him, but still, he tries.

Sansa pulls back, beaming. “You came.” 

“You asked me to.” He says. “That’s why.”

“And you missed me.” She says smugly.

Jon would have rolled his eyes if he didn’t think it would make her smack him and march off in the other direction, so he just tells the truth.

“I missed you, kid.”

Someone clears their throat loudly and unmistakably. Brienne is watching them, arms crossed over her chest disapprovingly, while the roadies are trying to pretend they see anything but Jon knows there's gonna be shit in a gossip column tomorrow about their reunion. He doesn’t care.

“Brienne.” He nods at her casually, as Sansa struggles to free herself from his grip. Instead, he shifts her to rest on his hip, like he’s carrying a baby. It’s been a month. He’s not letting her go anytime soon.

“Snow.” Brienne replies dryly. “Thrilled to have you join us tonight.”

“I invited him.” Sansa puts in, having completely given up her struggling. She leans her head on his shoulder instead.

“I can see that.”

Sansa looks down at his bag. “You haven’t checked in, yet.” 

“I wanted to come see you first.”

She smiles at that. “Good. Now I can show you my super cool hotel suite.” She kisses him and it distracts him enough to slacken his grip. She springs to her feet like a jack in a box, and starts leading him toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Brienne demands.

“We’ll be back before soundcheck.” Sansa waves her off.

“20 minutes before!”

“15!”

“30!”

“That’s not how bargaining works, Brienne. I’m supposed to go down and you’re supposed to find a compromise—”

“You still talk too much.” Jon kisses the corner of her mouth to shut her up properly, before turning to Brienne. “I’ll have her back 20 till. Understood.”

“Sansa, if you are late, god help me—” Brienne’s voice is abruptly cut off by the sound of the door opening, and then they’re in the lobby, and out in the cold.

“I could have had her.” Sansa insists. “Now we only have an hour.”

“I’ve been to New York before, you don’t need to take me sightseeing.” 

“I wasn’t gonna take you sightseeing.”

She says it quietly, so quietly, that there’s no other way to interpret it, and just like that, he’s half hard because she’s biting her fucking lip and playing with the zipper of his jacket. 

“About that room…” Jon trails off, mouth drying.

Sansa shrugs, but her eyes are light. “It’s pretty nice. It has a big flat screen. We could watch a movie.”

His hand is slipping underneath her sweats, smoothing his finger over the elastic band of her underwear, so close to where he wants to touch her, but not yet. Not here.

“A movie sounds nice.” He says finally.

* * *

Jon can’t tell who kisses who first, but he knows the TV isn’t fucking on.

It’s like they reach for each other at the same time, and then she’s in his arms, up against him. They might only have an hour, but he lingers in this kiss. In the taste of her chapstick and the feel of her hands in his hair.

All he has to do is tug, and she raises her arms so he can take her sweatshirt off fully. The shirt she’s wearing underneath is his, altered into a jaggedly cut crop top.

“Did you steal all my clothes?” He asks her amusedly.

“Sorry.” Sansa actually looks sheepish, cheeks pink. 

She could steal as many of his clothes as she wanted to, as long as she always came back to get more. “Don’t be.” He says, kissing her again.

Jon takes off her sweats next, which she tries to impatiently kick off with a huff that makes him laugh. She bites his lip in admonishment, and he actually moans. That makes her hum in satisfaction, as she starts unbuttoning his jeans. But he bats her hands away, and starts kissing her body.

“I missed you too.” Her skin is warm and soft and her voice is shaking slightly, as he starts pulling her panties down. “Just realized I haven’t told you that yet.”

His heart stammers in his chest. Jon slips a hand between her thighs, where she’s warm and soaked and his. Her hips tip up, as her hand covers his, and the moan Sansa lets out almost sounds like a sob and of course he’s missed this. More than anything.

But it’s the other things he’s missed more. How she uses the whipped cream to make a smiley face on her pancake in the morning, and the glittery pink of her guitar and the sound of her voice when she’s getting sleepy and her laugh. That laugh.

He drops his head onto the slope of her shoulder. “I know, baby.”

Her legs fall open to greet him, and Jon settles between them. He’s done this a 100 times. He knows he’ll do it a 100 more if he can. 

They’ve done this before, too. Rolling on the condom, breathing each other in before they fit themselves together. But it’s different from all the other times, heavy with an emotion he can’t quite describe. All he sees is her eyes, all he hears is those three words she said to him the night of the party, the ones he replayed in his loneliest moments over the last month. I love you.

Being inside of her is a relief. He watches her head fall back and he knows she feels the same. It’s as if she never left. Everything is exactly the same again. The birthmark underneath her breast. The smell of her shampoo. The sound of his name leaving her lips over and over again, as he moves his fingers over where they joined, slow at first, then fast, tilting her hips up towards him at the same time—

Sansa comes first, fast and hard, legs shaking and squeezing his hips hard and Jon is immensely glad because he couldn’t hold off for much longer. The pleasure comes in waves, each more brutal than the last, until it finally recedes and all he can do is sag against her. 

They lay like that for awhile, sweaty and entangled in each other, before he kisses her temple and pulls out of her. She makes a needy sound that almost makes him stay in bed, but he decides to clean up first. Then, he takes her into his arms again.

“There’s been no one else, you know.” Her finger is tracing the veins in his arm. 

“No groupies?” He jokes.

“No.”

There’s an unspoken question between them. One that she is afraid to ask because she is scared the answer is one she won’t like. Jon wants to take those fears and torch them, 

“Me either.”

He feels her look at him, then look away. He hears the smile in her voice. “Oh.”

He says nothing, but holds her tighter.

Much later, they’re back at MSG and it’s almost showtime. Sansa is running around in this little black leather miniskirt and a bra made of crystals that shows off a lot more skin than he wants people seeing on her, but he doesn’t say a word, because she’s happy, and he’s happy that she’s happy. 

“I have a surprise for you.” Her rings are cold against his skin as she cups his jaw. Her opening act, the Sand Snakes, just got through performing.

Jon raises his eyebrows at her. “Me?”

“Two surprises, actually.” She wiggles her index and middle finger. “I wrote a song.”

“Without me?”

“Yep. Are you proud of me?”

He grins at her. “Crazy proud.”

“Good.” Sansa leans into him. “It’s about you. Kinda.”

He’s usually the one writing the songs about people, not the other way around. Jon tells her, very honestly, and more tenderly than he cares to admit, “No one’s ever written me a song before.”

“You’ve never been a muse before.” She corrects him, their hands laced together. “How does it feel?”

Before he can answer, Brienne pokes her head around the corner. “You’re on in 15. Let’s get a move on.”

“Right.” Sansa’s smile dims as she turns back to him. “I’ve gotta—”

“I know.” He waves her off. “I’ll be here.”

“Watching?”

“I’m your biggest fan.” 

She kisses him a bit longer than she has time to, with Brienne shouting expletives in the background and he kisses her back. She’s almost around the corner when he calls after her, “Wait!”

Sansa turns back. “Yeah?”

Love you. The words could come so easily to him. Jon feels them, waiting on his tongue. He swallows. “You never told me what the second surprise was.”

At that, she just grins, and walks away.  
  


* * *

He’s seen Sansa perform, but never on a scale like this. 

With a bigger stage. With only her own fanbase in the crowd, screaming her name. She captivates them all too easily with her voice, and the way she moves. Briefly, Jon wonders if this is what he looked like, all those years ago, but he immediately knows this isn’t true. Sansa is a million times better than he ever was. She’s the right amount of sex and the right amount of _rage,_ neither outweighs the other. He knows her lyrics would carry through the room without a mic. He knows if she were just standing in the middle of a street, performing for pennies, everyone would stop to watch her. 

She opens with _desire_ , gritty and grimy and melodic. Like honey glazing over sandpaper. As she sings, she drops low to the ground, hips rocking: “ _How do you want me / How do you want me?”_ Then she segues into _just a girl_ , a call back to her bubblegum pop roots, but edgier and jagged with an electric guitar solo your blood sings along to. Then she gets darker with _Hurricane_ , and even darker with _decode_ , but she pulls herself back in just enough for _Misery Business_ and she follows that with _Ignorance_ and _Crush—_  
  
  


He thinks his favorite moment is when she exchanges her electric guitar for her acoustic one and starts playing the Only Exception. It was the first song they ever wrote together. It was storming, and they were holed up in the studio with a bunch of blankets. He strummed his guitar and she just watched him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. Now the roles are reversed. 

Seeing every single song he sat down with her to write and record is surreal. He doesn’t usually see the artists he produces for perform. He doesn’t care to. But Sansa is different. Onstage, she’s a force of nature. Seeing how much she’s grown from where they started makes his chest ache.

“This next song—” Sansa says into the mic, pushing her hair off her shoulder. She’s sweating, but it doesn’t look gross on her. It makes her glow. “—it’s actually a cover. My best friend wrote it, so it means a lot to me. It won’t be as good as his, so I hope he goes easy on me.”

She begins strumming her guitar, and Jon recognizes this tune. He’s played it more times than he can count. He remembers writing the song like it was just yesterday. He was 15, and sitting in detention, scribbling in his notebook. He had never felt as strongly as he did when he was 15 about anything—not until now. 

_Today is gonna be the day that they’re gonna throw it back to you…_

It’s his song, but she makes it into her own. She lingers on the bridge, finishing it out in a mezzo soprano rather than a baritone. It makes it sound like an exclamation of frustration rather than passive resignation. Then she carries into the chorus, dreamy and soft, causing it to sound sweetly hopeful instead of desperately hopeful. 

_And after all / you’re my wonderwall_

He wants to stop the entire concert right then and kiss her, and when the song finishes, he strongly considers it. 

“This song—you guys are the very first to hear it.” Sansa announces. “It’s a little rough, and I wrote it all by myself. So please, please be nice.”

In response, the crowd screams even louder, and she smiles at them. The tune she begins to strum is dark and melancholy, but enticing too.

_I keep a close watch on this heart of heart of mine / I keep my eyes wide open all the time_

In the background, the drum kicks off. She starts swaying her hips to the tick of it, hair falling all over her face. The spotlight is directly on her. She looks absurdly like an angel. 

_Because you’re mine / I walk the line…_

Mine. The word is a heady, dark sort of promise within the context of the song that stirs him. She was saying no matter what—no matter the parties or the drugs or the guys she may have met on the road, that he would always be hers. No matter what. And that no one could compare to that. 

_For you I know / I know I’d even try to turn the tide_

Her voice gets louder and stronger, more emotional as the song progresses. As she keeps singing the refrain: _because you’re mine / I walk the line._ Over and over and over again.

And he _believes_ her.

He believes her because he loves her. He loves her like he’s never loved anyone—wholly and without reserve—because he never could have afforded to before. But now, she’s left him with no choice. He has zero control. He’s okay with that. As long as he gets to keep loving her.

After the song is over, the crowd is screaming, begging for an encore. But Sansa is waving them off with a laugh. 

“We’ve gotta move onto the next one, guys. I’m sorry.” She’s setting her guitar aside. “It’s called _I will_ and it’s my favorite. I’ve actually got a surprise. The guy who helped me write this—he’s my best friend. He’s here tonight. And I couldn’t have done this without him, so it doesn’t feel right to play without him either. Give it up for Jon Snow, everyone!”

For a moment, he’s frozen in disbelief, pandemonium pounding in his ears. He thinks he might have heard her wrong. 

“Jon?” Sansa is looking at him, now. “Come on!”

“No.” He hisses. “ _No._ Are you fucking crazy?”

She replaces her mic, and jogs over to him. She pulls at his hand. “You have to!”

“Like _fuck_ I have to.”

“Jon.” She stops her pulling to look at him searchingly. Her blue eyes are earnest and pleading. “Please? For me? You’re the only person I wanna share this moment with.”

He remembers her song, then. _Because you’re mine / I walk the line._ He feels his resolve weakening. Stubbornly, he continues to shake his head.

Sansa takes his face in her hands, stopping him short. “I believe in you.”

_I believe in you._ It’s like his entire world turns upright. Everything is exactly how it's supposed to be. He is exactly where he’s supposed to be. With her.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” He says exasperatedly, but he doesn’t really mean it. 

She knows that, because she kisses him softly, just once, and begins pulling him onstage.

He’s aware of the screams surging, and the amount of eyes on him. He isn’t scared. He’s done this so many times he’s lost count. Sansa’s lead guitarist, Lothor, hands him his guitar, a black Gibson, and pick. He rejects the latter. 

“I don’t need it.” He tells him.

Lothor looks at him dubiously, but hands him the guitar anyway.

“Badass.” Sansa teases him. Her eyes are sparkling.

“You’re gonna see exactly how bad I can be after we leave here.” Jon promises her. 

She leans in close and he can smell everything, her lavender perfume, her shampoo, the salt of her sweat, his mouth waters. Her lips brush his ear. 

“Spank me all you want. You know I like that.” 

Then she waltzes back to the mic as if she hadn’t said anything and he’s left covering how hard he is with a guitar, but really, he wouldn’t have it any other way, because one she takes the mic, she looks back at him and it’s as if she’s telling him again, _I believe in you._

So he tells her, damning the rest of the world watching them, “I love you.”

Her smile—it’s like the sun. She replies, “I know.”

Edric, Sansa’s drummer, begins counting off, and with a crash, the song begins.

And Jon does what he does best.   
  


* * *

**[HEADLINES]**

**_“JON SNOW” TRENDING TOPICS_ **

**_WATCH: JON SNOW perform live for the first time in decade with his rumored girlfriend Sansa Stark_ **

**_OMG: Sansa Stark and JON SNOW’S chemistry onstage performing “I will” at MSG gave us all the feels_ **

**_After an explosive welcome back performance, JON SNOW is to join rumored girlfriend Sansa Stark on her European Tour_ **

* * *

Jon never thought he would be getting married again—

Let alone in _Vegas._

But the minute they get back from Europe, it’s exactly what they do. Four months has passed since his first live performance in years. Four months since he decided to keep performing. Four months since he realized Sansa Stark was the love of his life.

And now he’s married to her. 

He never proposed as much as he _told_ her. They were in Paris. He was thinking about how much he hated Paris. Their penthouse suite had a view of the eiffel tower. Sansa was dancing around to his debut album in nothing but a fluffy robe, sucking on chocolate covered strawberries. He realized then, that even though he hated everything about Paris: it’s smell and its food and its venues, he loved Sansa. And he would buy a fucking apartment here if it meant he could stay with her.

So he told her, with his heart in her throat, “Let’s get married.”

She had giggled like mad and tackled him onto the bed, sprinkling his face in sticky kisses. 

And now they’re married. No pomp and circumstance. Just him, an elvis impersonator holding a bible, and Sansa in a white dress. They didn’t have to worry about a guestlist. Jon grew up being shuttled between foster homes and Sansa’s parents died when she was a kid, leaving her and her sister to be raised by her Uncle Benjen. Arya came though, just to be their witness. Jon invited Gendry so she wouldn’t be alone. They are both conveniently missing at the moment.

“I’m your wife.” Sansa tells him later on, on the balcony of their hotel suite. She’s glowing in the moonlight and _gloating._ “I’m Mrs. Snow.”

She holds her left hand up to the sky. Her engagement ring—three entire carats, half a hundred fucking grand—twinkles. On top of it is a strawberry ring pop. 

“You can keep Stark, if you want.” His arms are wrapped around her. “I don’t mind.”

“Uh uh.” Sansa leans into him. “You can’t get rid of me now. We’re forever.”

God, he hopes so. Jon kisses her neck, agreeing, “Forever.”

* * *

The house has a different meaning, now that they live in it together, married. He tells Sansa she can decorate the place however she wants. 

Within weeks, it’s no longer Jon’s house, but Mr. and Mrs. Snow’s house. 

Mrs. Snow hires an interior designer, which Mr. Snow thinks is frankly fucking ridiculous but Mrs. Snow gives him a blowjob and Mr. Snow finds he doesn’t care anymore, as long as his wife is happy and she does not touch the studio. 

Mr. and Mrs. Snow have two walk in closets. Both are mostly filled with Mrs. Snow’s clothes. They have a brand new mattress that costs almost as much as her engagement ring and spanking brand new cherrywood dressers. They have a cabana in the backyard and a coffee table that used to belong to Jimi Hendrix. They have brand new sectionals, although Mr. Snow can’t recall what was wrong with the last ones. They have matching throw pillows and embroidered hand towels. They have two Alaskan Malamute puppies named Ghost and Lady respectfully. Both dogs enjoy chewing on Mrs. Snow’s beloved throw pillows. When they start whining in the middle of the night, Mr. Snow is always the one to take them out, because his wife sleeps like the dead. But that’s okay, because he loves her. Just as he loves his life.

Jon really, really loves his new life.

One day, he’s downstairs, screwing around with a track while Ghost chews on one of his squeaky toys, rolling around on the floor. It’s the most noise he’s made since they got him. Ghost tends to be abnormally quiet. 

“Baby?”

Sansa’s voice is only slightly louder than the music he’s playing. He pauses it to hear her better.

“Yeah?”

Her response comes out tentative. “Are you busy?”

“Just screwing around.” Jon shuts his computer. “Come on down.”

She does exactly that. It’s nearly 10 pm, so she’s dressed for bed—a dickies shirt and her underwear. She’s chewing on her thumbnail.

He leans back. “What’s up, kid?”

Sansa shrugs, perching herself on his knee. She cuddles up close to him. “I just wanted to tell you I missed you. That’s all.”

He isn’t buying it. She only bites her nails when she’s nervous. “You sure?”

“And that I love you.” Her words are so sugary sweet that there’s bound to be some rot underneath. He narrows his eyes at her, but he doesn’t push her.

“I love you, too.” He wraps an arm around her waist.

Sansa smiles at him. It’s genuine. “I know.”

He kisses her. “I’ll be up in a minute. Let me just finish this up.”

“Alright.” She stands up, and heads toward the staircase. Jon uncaps his water bottle and gulps. He opens back up his laptop, and looks at his new track. Untitled crow’s row. He knows if he told Sansa, she would support him. But he’s not sure if he’s ready to dive in fully again. Not yet.

When he looks back at the stairs, Sansa is still standing there, looking at him. Her arms are wrapped around herself. She’s got that stubborn jut in her chin and he knows she’s bringing trouble.

She stares him directly in the eye, unafraid. A little hopeful. “I’m pregnant.” 

Jon chokes on his water.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @saintsansa on tumblr!


End file.
